


To Lie Next to You

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Hale Family Feels, Hurt Derek, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pack, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Stargazing, The Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: The four times Stiles accidentally fell asleep cuddling Derek and the one time it wasn’t an accident.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 679





	To Lie Next to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirjastorotta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirjastorotta/gifts).



The first time it happened was the night Derek’s world fell apart.

The hospital’s long hallways seemed to stretch into oblivion, a never-ending, winding labyrinth. The glare of the LED lights that hung overhead stung his eyes, the hum of electricity filling in his ears.

Distant voices, the tapping of computer keys, and the beeping of machines did nothing to drown out the voices that rang in his ears—the broken cries, the screams of pain, the desperate pleas.

Every time his eyes shut, the haunting memories filled his mind.

His feet hit the ground with a thundering beat that drummed in his ears, the muddy sludge dragging at his shoes, slowing him down as if he were running in a nightmare.

Smoke and ash filled his lungs as he ran, making him cough and gasp breathlessly. His nose was filled with the bitter scent of ash and the rich scent of burning pine.

A roaring orange glow consumed the building. Tendril-like flames flickered as they devoured the wooden planks and the frail lace curtains.

The heat of the blaze radiated against his skin. Beads of sweat glistened in the glow of the fire, his tears burning as they welled in his eyes.

His heart sank into his stomach. He blinked heavily, the tears falling past his lashes and streaking down his cheeks as he watched on helplessly as the fire destroyed the house—his house, his _home_ , and the memories of his childhood along with it. He felt cold, watching the dancing flames devour and destroy everything.

Seared and blistered hands reached out from the windows of the basement, clawing at the earth.

He remembered Laura scream his name, her voice far behind him as he ran into the inferno, sprinting down the hall to where the door to the basement was.

He’d open his eyes and find himself back in the hallway. The smell of charred wood and burnt flesh still haunted him; clinging to his clothes, filling his nose, and following him no matter how far away from the burning house he got.

He sat in one of the chairs pushed back against the wall of the hallway, his face stained with soot and smeared with ash. His hands had been wrapped in bandages, covering the seared flesh of the palms of his hands and his burnt knuckles, evidence of his attempts to save his family—his _failed_ attempts.

He glanced down the hall at one of the doors that had been left slightly ajar. If he strained his hearing, he could hear Laura talking quietly to the nurses, her voice raspy and broken.

She was still being treated for her burns, leaving him alone in the hall.

They’d both heal quickly enough, but for the time being, they had to keep up the illusion that they were human.

Peter would take longer though. He was the only one they’d managed to pull him out of the fire before the house collapsed; his flesh seared, charred and covered in raw sores.

He was comatose; the pain too much for his mind to deal with. Laura had tried talking to him, but he’d been unresponsive.

“ _He’s healing,_ ” Laura had told him. “ _It’ll take time, but he’ll heal too._ ”

Nurses and doctors passed him, talking quietly and casting looks his way—their eyes filled with sorry and pity.

Derek hung his head, unable to look at them. He didn’t want their judgement or their pity, and the last thing he wanted was to look into their eyes and get confirmation that he was alone; his family was dead. It was just the three of them now.

His body was weak and aching.

There was a quiet shuffle of footsteps, slowing in front of him as a pair of scuffed red sneakers came into his field of vision.

He slowly looked up, meeting a pair of fawn-brown eyes that looked at him with a mix of curiosity, confusion and concern.

“You’re Derek, right?” the boy asked.

Derek nodded.

“I’m Stiles,” he introduced himself before quickly adding, “The Sheriff’s son.”

A moment of quiet settled between them.

Stiles shifted, uneasy. “Can I sit with you?”

Derek nodded.

“Are you hurt?” Stiles asked.

“What?” Derek asked, confused.

Stiles nodded towards Derek’s bandaged hands.

“Oh,” Derek said, looking down at his hands. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“My house was on fire and my family was trapped inside. My sister and I tried to get them out,” Derek answered, his voice weak and breaking. “We were able to get my uncle out, but….”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, predicting how the story ended. “Are you okay?”

“Just a couple of burns,” Derek said dismissively. “They’ll heal.”

“No, are you okay?” Stiles repeated, emphasising his words slightly.

Derek felt tears well in his eyes, his lips quivering as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. A glistening tear trailed down his cheek as he shook his head.

“They’re all dead,” Derek said, struggling to get his words out. “My mum, my dad, my whole family…”

Stiles didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to; his being there was enough.

He shuffled closer to Derek and leant over the arm rest, leaning against Derek’s side and letting his head rest against his shoulder.

They sat in silence, but their silence spoke volumes more than words ever could.

When Derek’s tears finally dried up and exhaustion took its toll, he let his head fall atop Stiles’, his cheek resting atop the boy’s tousled brown hair.

The two of them drifted off to sleep where they sat.

That’s where Laura found her brother a few hours later.

She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the two of them—Derek, who had never had friends aside from his sisters and his uncle, curled up and fast asleep with someone he’d only just met. The harsh lines of his face were softened by sleep, the smears of soot and ash on his cheeks cleared away by his tears.

He seemed calm—comfortable—and the last thing Laura wanted was to wake her brother now and throw him back into the harsh reality of everything they’d lost. She’d let him sleep for now; let him have that moment of peace.

She shrugged off her jacket and did her best to lay it across the two boys before making her way down the hallway to the intensive care unit where they were keeping Peter.

The second time he remembers was one of the nights the pack spent together—movie night.

“I’m pressing play whether you’re ready or not,” Derek called out.

Stiles let out a cry of protest from the kitchen across the hallway, but his voice was muffled.

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion, turning to look at Stiles.

Stiles clambered over the back of the couch, juggling a bowl of fresh popcorn in one hand and a bowl of chips in the other, and a packet of Oreos balanced on top of that. He was holding packets of jelly beans, marshmallows, gummy bears, and sour worms in his mouth.

Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles sank down into the cushions beside Derek, passing him the bowl of popcorn before dropping the packets he held in his mouth into his lap and distributing the snacks amongst the pack.

“Oreos for Erica, jelly beans for Boyd—” Stiles said, passing them to Erica who was stretched out across the other couch, her feet resting in Isaac’s lap and her head lying in Boyd’s. “—and chips for Isaac.”

Isaac muttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ but it was drowned out by Erica’s squeal of joy as she clutched the packet of Oreos to her chest.

He held out the packet of marshmallows to Cora who sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch that the other betas sat on.

“Marshmallows for Cora because she’s soft and sweet,” he teased.

Cora scoffed at the remark but took the packet from him.

“And sour worms for Jackson because he’s a sour bitch,” Stiles said.

The rest of the pack snickered.

Jackson levelled him with a glare, snatching the packet from Stiles’ grasp.

“And gummy bears for Der-bear,” Stiles said jokingly, swapping the last packet of sweets for the bowl of popcorn Derek held.

Derek looked at him, unamused, rolling his eyes as he turned away from Stiles and pressed play.

Isaac reached over to the far wall and switched off the lights, letting the room settle into quiet dimness as the movie started.

At some point during the evening, Stiles shuffled over to Derek’s end of the couch and leant against his side—probably reaching over to steal some gummy bears, too entranced in the movie to ask or to realise how close they were to each other.

Derek didn’t notice either, not until the movie started to wind down, when he realised that Stiles hadn’t moved.

Derek craned his neck, looking down at Stiles.

He leant against Derek’s arm, his head resting against Derek’s shoulder, his cheek smooshed against Derek’s bicep and his lips parted slightly as he drew in steady, slow breaths. His eyes were shut, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he dreamt. The now-half-empty bowl of popcorn was balanced dangerously on the edge of the couch cushion.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle, carefully setting the bowl of popcorn aside on the end table. He slid one arm around Stiles’ shoulders and the other under his legs, lifting him up off the couch and carrying him out of the room. He carried him upstairs, pushing back the blankets of the bed in one of the spare rooms and laying him down, trying his best not to wake him.

The next time he remembers was the night of the meteor shower.

Derek had laid blankets out across the ground in the front yard. They knew the lookout would be busy with watchers waiting for the meteor shower, but the views from the clearing out the front of the Hale house would be just as good.

It was early autumn; the nights still held their summer warmth and the ground was covered in a sheet of lush green grass that cushioned them as the pack lay down together on the blankets. A cool breeze rolled through the trees, making the humid air more bearable. The damp earth left the sweet scent of petrichor hanging in the air and the clouds had drifted away to reveal the starry sky above.

Stiles brought out the pizza they had ordered, sitting on the blanket to have a picnic under the dying light of the vibrant sunset. Once they were finished and their dinner was cleared away, they all laid back on the blankets, looking up at the dark sky as the stars began to sparkle.

In the shuffle of bodies, Stiles ended up lying next to Derek, his head resting on one of the cushions Erica had grabbed off the couch and brought out to them.

The meteor shower wasn’t predicted for another hour, so they filled in the time spotting the constellations that were charted across the night sky.

Derek turned his head to the side, looking at Stiles as he stared up at the sky in wonder. The dark depths of his dark eyes sparkled, reflecting the stars.

The first meteor came with a burst of blue light, streaking across the sky; followed by another, and another.

The shower lasted for hours, the sky lit up with magnificent shades of blue, yellow, pink and white as the phosphorous tails reacted with the atmosphere. Some broke apart in the mesosphere, exploding like fireworks as small fragments rained down to earth.

It was a mesmerising sight, Derek was almost sad when it was over.

The lights faded, letting the world settle into darkness once again.

Derek stared up at the twinkling stars that filled the inky abyss of the night sky. He heard Stiles let out a quiet sigh beside him as he rolled over, curling up against Derek’s side.

He turned his head to look at the young man.

His eyes were shut and his face was relaxed as his cheek rested against Derek’s bicep. A strand of his tousled hair had fallen forward across his forehead.

Derek reached his free arm across to the young man, careful not to wake him as he gently brushed the strand of hair back from Stiles’ face.

He laid there a little while longer, looking up at the stars and stealing glances at Stiles, feeling a strange warmth settle in his chest and a smile lift the corners of his lips.

The next time he remembers was after a fight. There had been so many, he didn’t know who they had fought, only that the pack had come home covered in cuts and bruises, but alive.

Stiles’ knuckles were torn and covered in blood, his hand still grasping the grip of his metal baseball bat. The front of his shirt was shredded, exposing the bloody slashes where their opponent had scratched his chest. The rest of his clothes were splattered with blood—not all of it his.

His pale cheek was bruised, turning all shades of black, blue and purple. The skin had been grazed, flecks of blood covering his cheek. His eyes were heavy as the rush of adrenaline subsided and exhaustion took its toll on him.

Derek watched his movements, his eyes full of worry as they tracked Stiles’ steps as the young man paced back and forth across the room.

Derek was sporting a few injuries: a nasty gash across his stomach, claw marks tearing open his arms, and a cut across his cheek.

His shirt was coloured red, stained with blood. His injuries weren’t too severe; he could already feel his tissue stitching itself back together.

He and the others would heal quickly enough—but Stiles wouldn’t; he was human.

Derek sat down on the edge of his bed for a second. He felt fatigue drag at him.

“I just need a second then I’m taking you to the hospital,” Derek told him.

He pulled his torn, bloodied shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

“I don’t need a hospital,” Stiles objected.

“Stiles, you can’t heal like we do,” Derek said firmly.

“I know,” Stiles said dismissively, setting his baseball bat down. “But I don’t need a hospital, I just need a couple of Band-Aids and some sleep and I’ll be fine.”

“Stiles—” Derek started.

“Derek, I’m fine,” Stiles said insistently, stepping over to Derek’s side.

“I’m still taking you to the hospital,” Derek told him.

Stiles threw himself over Derek, knocking him back against the bed and laying on top of him to pin him to the mattress.

“You can’t take me anywhere if you can’t move,” Stiles argued weakly, his face buried in Derek’s chest.

“Stiles,” Derek started, struggling to smother his laughter. “Get off me.”

Stiles didn’t reply.

“Stiles?” Derek said, craning his neck to look at the young man’s face.

Exhaustion had got the better of him; his eyes were shut and his breathing slowed as sleep dragged him under.

Derek let out a soft sigh. He wrapped an arm around Stiles’ back and carefully shifted further onto the bed, resting his head back against the pillows. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him close.

Stiles stirred slightly, shifting until he got in a more comfortable spot and nuzzling his face into the curve of Derek’s neck.

He listened to Stiles’ breathing, letting the slow rhythm put him at ease, soothing him until fatigue wore him down. His heavy eyes fluttered shut as sleep pulled him under.

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles asked, somewhat hesitant.

“Yes,” Derek said softly, pulling back the blankets and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He looked up at Stiles. “Are you?”

Stiles shifted nervously.

“Yes… No... I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “I’ve never slept with anyone before.”

“Stiles, you’ve been sleeping with me since the day we met,” Derek told him.

“But I’ve never _intentionally_ slept with someone,” Stiles admitted. “I… I don’t know what to do?”

Derek’s brows knitted together as he frowned in confusion. “You lie in bed and go to sleep like you would any other night.”

“But like, how do I lie?” Stiles asked. “Do we snuggle? Do we spoon?”

“You’re overthinking it,” Derek said softly. He reached out and tugged at the front of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him close. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and looked up into his dark eyes. “If you’re not ready, then you can sleep here and I’ll sleep in the spare room.”

“No, I want to sleep with you,” Stiles said. “I’m just…”

“Nervous?” Derek ventured.

Stiles nodded.

“Are you afraid you’re going to kick me in your sleep,” Derek said teasingly.

“I wasn’t but now I am,” Stiles panicked, squirming in Derek’s hold.

Derek held him tighter, pulling him close enough that Stiles had to kneel on the edge of the bed, straddling Derek’s lap, in order to stop them toppling over.

“If you kick me, I’ll kick you back,” Derek said as if it were a promise.

Stiles smiled softly letting out a quiet chuckle.

Derek craned his neck, bringing his lips to Stiles’ in a tender, loving kiss.

He felt the tension in Stiles’ body subside, his anxiety washing away as his hands ran up Derek’s biceps, looping around the man’s neck as he laced his fingers through Derek’s raven hair.

Derek weakened his hold around Stiles’ waist, running his hands up Stiles’ side and urging him to arch to his touch.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

His hands trailed back down to Stiles’ hips.

He steadied his grip on Stiles, holding him close as he lay back against the mattress, pulling Stiles down with him.

Stiles broke away from the kiss long enough to let out a breathless chuckle.

“Is this how we’re sleeping tonight?” he said, laughing quietly.

“Uh-huh,” Derek said.

He tilted his chin up, chasing Stiles’ lips. He felt Stiles smile against his lips as he brought them back together again.

Stiles drew back slowly, clambering off Derek and laying next to him. He looked up at Derek lovingly.

Derek rolled onto his side, his pale hazel eyes shimmering in the dim light as he looked at Stiles.

“Okay, I’m not nervous anymore,” Stiles said quietly. “Well, maybe still a little.”

“Do I have to kiss you again?” Derek asked.

Stiles flashed a mischievous smile. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

The corners of Derek’s lips turned up in a smile.

Stiles glanced down.

“Can we…?” His voice trailed off.

“What?” Derek asked softly, coaxing an answer from him.

“Can we cuddle?” Stiles asked.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle.

“Always,” Derek whispered.

He shifted slightly, resting his head against the pillow and holding one arm out, inviting Stiles closer.

Stiles shuffled across the bed and lay down against Derek’s side, his head resting in the crook of the man’s shoulder and one hand laying on Derek’s chest—rising and falling with his steady breaths.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, holding him close. He brushed the ball of his thumb against Stiles’ arm, tracing lazy circles across his pale skin.

It wasn’t long before Stiles’ eyes drifted shut, his breathing evening out as he slowly drift off to sleep.

Derek watched him for a while, a soft smile working its way onto his face.

He let his head roll forward, resting his cheek atop the tousled mess of Stiles’ chestnut-brown hair. His eyes fluttered shut as he settled into sleep.

He remembered the boy who had sat with him the night his world fell apart. Never did he think that they’d end up here, but he was glad they did.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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